


serendipity (n.)

by charleybradburies



Series: salvation (n.) [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Era, Chance Meetings, Clothing, Cold Weather, Community: 1_million_words, Disability, F/M, Family Loss, Jumpers, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), New York City, One Shot, POV Male Character, Past Relationship(s), Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Post-World War II, Pre-Relationship, Rain, Second Chances, Snow, Soldiers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, Tumblr: otpprompts, War, Weather, Wet Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>: the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for; also, an instance of this.</p><p>PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE SUICIDAL IDEATION.</p>
            </blockquote>





	serendipity (n.)

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine person A is feeling suicidal because they feel that no one would even care if they died. Looking down from the place that they intend to jump from, they decide to give the world a final chance to prove someone cares by dialing a random number on their phone. If no one answers, they will jump. The number they dial just so happens to be person B’s number. How person B reacts to person A’s explanation is up to you.

December, 1946

George Washington Bridge, NY

“You really _don’t_ have to do this, you know,” the girl calls out to him. 

_What was her name again? It started with a P, right? Or an M._

He couldn’t remember. He also didn’t remember her telling him that she was coming. But obviously, she was here, standing just a bit further down the bridge. If he tilted himself back over the sidewalk a bit he could see her, but he didn’t want to go over - in either direction - unintentionally, so he was trying not to look. He only had one leg to support himself with, besides. His balance wasn’t good anymore. 

He _used_ to have spectacular balance. He and his sister had ridden horses up at their summer house when they were little, back before their parents died, and he could stand on his horse’s back while it walked and everything. Balance had made the Army a shitton less difficult than it might have been. And now he couldn’t walk. He’d never be able to walk normal, the doctor had said. If it had just been to his knee, there could have been a chance, but no. He’d never walk normal. Never dance normal, never. Didn’t even have a person left to dance with, either. 

“Daniel?” the girl calls again. She’s closer this time, he can hear it. She sounds a bit out of breath, too. 

“That’s what you said your name was, isn’t it? Daniel?”

He nods weakly, and it’s now that he can hear the clacking of high heels against the pavement. The clacking stops, and he feels a hand on his right thigh. Well, his thigh. It’s the only proper one he has now. The hand is small, and he keeps his eyes pointed out in front of him. He feels the momentary reflex to scratch his nose, but pushes away the thought, knowing better. She grabs him a bit tighter.

“The war took something from _everyone,_ Daniel,” she continues, and her voice sounds like she’s about to cry. 

“You _don’t_ have to let it take your _life.”_

His thin scarf is yanked off his neck a few seconds later, and now he actually turns to look at her, wondering her reason, but he can’t even get a good look at her before a much thicker one has been wrapped around his neck. It’s pink, and very warm. Her hand is heavy on his shoulder for a moment, but he can’t make himself look at her. 

He should never have called anyone. Everyone would be better off for it, including this poor girl. 

More clacking. Some tossing. 

_What on earth is this girl_ doing?

His question is answered quickly - she pulls herself up onto the ledge by the same beam he’s holding, and sits down next to him.

“You shouldn’t do this,” he mumbles, his heart racing even more at the implications of her action. 

“Neither should you,” she answers easily, her voice stern.

“And I’m not going to let you.”

The first tear he’s shed in weeks streams down one of his cheeks. He could have sworn he’d cried himself dry after he’d been returned stateside.

“My name is Peggy.”

 _So it_ was _a P._

“Well, legally it’s Margaret, but I don’t particularly like the name Margaret, so I’ve never gone by it.”

_It was also an M. That was a bit convenient. Maybe she’d mentioned that on the phone._

“I was a soldier, too, as was my…boyfriend. He...Steve died in combat, last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says curtly, and he can swear that she’s about to cry, too. It’s starting to get quite dark, though, so even when he tilts his head a bit towards her, he can’t actually tell. 

“He was a hero.”

She doesn’t say anything for quite some time, then, and neither does he; her voice is just barely a whisper when she does speak again.

“And from the way you talked about the war, about what happened...it sounds like _you_ are, too.”

As she finishes her sentence, with her throat starting to close on her - she was definitely crying - a light, cold drizzle starts coming down. It’s just about too dark to see her, now, but he hears her take a very deep breath.

“Daniel?”

“Peggy?” he replies reticently.

“I’m going to turn around, and step back onto the pavement,” she declares, but her tone implies more.

“And?”

“And when I’ve put my shoes back on, I’m going to grab your hand,” she says, her voice getting more aggressive, “and you’re going to step back onto the pavement after me.”

He doesn’t answer her. He’d thought about this for weeks, was he really going to let this girl he didn’t even know fuck it all up? That phone call from the Automat had been a terrible idea. He hadn’t even looked up a number, just typed in some bullshit numbers. He hadn’t thought anyone would even answer. 

But now, he can’t decide. Even if he did go off, it wouldn’t feel right, going with her here. _She’d lost enough, hadn’t she? Her boyfriend and all?_ Besides, he was still wearing her stupid pink scarf. 

His nerves react to his uncertainty and he scoots a bit away from her without even thinking about it, but a moment later his feet are on the ground. When he starts to realizes some of what’s happened, he sees that his arm is slung around her neck. Her fingers are surprisingly warm, holding his chest steady as she sits them both down on the sidewalk. It’s soaking wet, and it’s freezing out, and he can barely breathe, but even though he doesn’t know her, leaning against her shoulder and sobbing is...comforting. When his gasps start to slow down, she loosens her hold on him a bit, and jerks a hat onto the top of his head. It doesn’t help much, since his hair - and his everything else - is already wet, but realizing that she’d brought one specifically for him actually does make him feel the tiniest bit warmer.

“I _told_ you I wasn’t going to let you do it,” she says eventually, her voice more gentle than any of the times she’s spoken before. She puts a hand on his knee again, and this time he’s able to feel the slickness of her leather gloves through his too-thin dress pants.

“How did you get up here?” 

“Cab.”

“How do you walk any?” 

“Got a crutch from hospice.”

“Where is it?”

Daniel shrugs, and is surprised that she just gives a small grunt, as though she’s not particularly affected. But if she really does plan on walking him off the bridge…it wasn’t like cabs were driving by looking for fares. When she lets go of him and pushes herself up from the sidewalk, he realizes just how much…energy he’s been holding. His back hurts, and his heart is pounding through his chest, and he leans back onto the pavement for a movement, closing his eyes and rubbing them - how long had it been since he’d slept? He wasn’t sure. 

He can’t tell exactly how long she leaves him lying there, but after some time she steps around to his left side and pulls him up, slinging his arm back up around her shoulders. She’s probably about as tall as he is, since she’s an inch or two taller in her heels. 

_Fuck, did she run over here in those?_

“Are you going to start, or shall I?” she asks.

He groans. 

“Are you sure about this? It’s nearly half a mile just to get to the end of the bridge.”

She chuckles as though it’s a ridiculous question, and he can feel his cheeks grow a little warmer. At least she can’t actually see him blushing. 

“I _did_ tell you I was a soldier, didn’t I? Besides, how else do you propose we get back to Manhattan? Whistle for a horse?”

Daniel finds it odd that she sounds amused rather than frustrated, even when she gives a soft sigh afterward. She entwines her fingers with his, and takes the first step. 

She hails a cab when they reach the end of the bridge, and by the time they're damn near collapsing on the stoop of her brownstone, the rain has turned to snow.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [affection (n.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003099) by [charleybradburies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies)




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